


Peacebreaker

by Candelantern



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mutual Pining, Other, Rarepair, Slow Burn, except for the fact that nobody seems to ship them but me, idk fully where i'm going with this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-13 02:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15354006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candelantern/pseuds/Candelantern
Summary: On a search for his old mentor, Gabriel Reyes, Jesse McCree uncovers a terrorist plot to incite global war.





	1. The Invitation

Winston’s recall of Overwatch went unanswered. He broadcasted the summons only the day before the mass shutdown of the World Communications Network, as the U.N. dissolved and its former members began to threaten and bicker. The United States was already establishing itself as a fascist power, and the shutdown of the WCN only cemented its rise. It also meant that few of the scattered Overwatch agents even heard Winston’s message. Those that did were unable or unwilling to act. 

That wasn’t the only reason Winston’s message went unheard by the scattered agents, of course; some of them just didn’t have cell reception. Like Jesse McCree, who was drooling on a bar in a tiny town on the southern edge of the Mojave Desert. He’d been up all night, doing important work on his ironclad policy of lying low. He didn’t look out of place here. The only people he’d spoken to in the last three weeks were bartenders, diner waitresses, and the owner of the last stop gas station where he worked, part-time, as an auto mechanic. He stayed far away from lawmen, even the local ones. Better that no one but horses and gila monsters found his face familiar. 

McCree was comfortable in his anonymity, which is why it was such a surprise when someone woke him up that afternoon by dumping a bucket of water over his head. It washed him off the barstool to the floor, where he lay coughing and spluttering. Something cold and familiar pressed against his forehead, and he went cross-eyed staring up the barrel of his own gun.

“Ay, _dios mio_ , you really let yourself go, McCree.” The girl holding his gun was waifish and sharp-looking. She dropped into a crouch to look him in the eye and tapped her long, violet nails on the dirty tile floor. “They told me I’d find you here.”

“That so? And who’s they?” He kept his voice level. His peacekeeper dwarfed the girl’s hand, but he knew a hunter when he saw one. He didn’t doubt there was killer’s intent in those manicured fingers, and more than enough strength to pull a trigger. 

“I’d call that ‘pay-to-know’ information,” said the girl. “You didn’t make yourself easy to track down, do you know that? You left a circle of bribes and secrets that almost drove me loco. Want to know how I finally found you?” She grinned. “It was your pistol. It’s so flashy. Do you really hope to keep a low profile with this thing, Jesse?”

“Don’t call me Jesse,” said McCree. “What’re you here for? Want to kill me? Get in the back of the line, little lady.” 

The girl clicked her tongue and grimaced. “Cool it with the clichés. You already ruined my first impression of you. Don’t make it any worse.” Abruptly, she stood up, beckoning with his gun. “Let’s take this outside, shall we? I have a proposition for you.” 

It was the heat of the day and the air shimmered over the blacktop. Nobody was outdoors at this hour. Nobody was outdoors at any hour, really. The town’s population was just over a hundred, which was why McCree had chosen it. Less people who might recognize him. But this lady had found him anyway, and as he listened to her proposal, he started wishing with increasing intensity that he’d listened to his initial impulse for going into hiding, which had been taking a van into the middle of the Mojave and setting up camp there. 

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” he told her, but he said it quietly because she still had his gun. Reyes was dead. Reyes had been dead for years.

“Do I look like the sort of girl who kids?” she replied. “Besides, McCree. You need us, don’t you?”

“Who’s asking?” 

Her mouth twitched into an impish smile. “Call me Sombra.”

“That ain’t a name.” 

“It doesn’t have to be, because it’s all you get. I represent a group of people with like-minded interests. We need you, McCree.”

“That’s funny. Thought I needed you.”

“ _¿Porque no los dos?_ We have a lot in common. We’re wanted by the government, the media thinks we’re terrorists, we’re responsible for the deaths of several political figures -” 

McCree cut her off with a hiss. “Keep your voice down!” 

Sombra spread her arms. “Save your paranoia. There’s no one here who cares about any of that. Isn’t that why you’re here? We have friends in common, McCree. One friend in particular. We need you to find him.” 

“Do that yourself,” said McCree. “You found me easy enough.” 

“Reyes is better at hiding than you are. No offense.” 

Offense taken. “Reyes and I ain’t friends, little lady. That ended a long time ago. You should update your intelligence.” 

“You’re a liar.” She tweaked his nose. “He taught you everything you know.”

“That don’t mean shit.” 

“It means everything.” Sombra flipped his gun in her hand and held it out to him. He took it warily. “You don’t get much internet out here, do you?” 

“Not generally.” 

“Mm. I thought not. The world is falling apart, you know.”

“That ain’t my problem.” 

Sombra shrugged and retreated a little ways. “It would have been once. I’ve done my research, McCree. Once you would have made it your problem, especially if Reyes was involved. But hey, maybe I misjudged you. Let your old mentor die or rot wherever he is. Forget about everything you did for Blackwatch.”

McCree said nothing. He just watched as Sombra backed away from him. She grinned perpetually. 

“I was really looking forward to meeting Reyes’s protégé,” she said, “but you’re a big disappointment. Feel free to go back to getting drunk in old bars at three in the afternoon. You won’t be missed. But, if you change your mind, give me a call.” She pulled a scrap of paper from her sleeve and let it flutter to land in the dust beside the road. “And check the news sometime, if you get a chance. Maybe it will interest you.”

Then she vanished, and so did a high-pitched mechanical whine that McCree hadn’t noticed until the dead dry air was silent again. He grimaced. This was all bent outta shape already, and he hadn’t even picked her number off the ground. Maybe he’d just leave it there. Maybe he’d stroll on back inside, get a double on the rocks, and wash it down with cheap beer until this whole encounter seemed like a messed-up dream. 

McCree swore under his breath as he retrieved the fallen scrap of paper. He could only ever pretend to be that kind of a man. Question was, how’d Sombra put her finger on him so neatly? As a man in hiding, meeting a stranger who knew him that thoroughly was disconcerting as all hell. 

He told himself he wasn’t going to call her. He’d just keep her details on hand. 

But the least he could do was check the news. 

His clothes were already dry, thanks to the blast furnace of the Arizona sun, but he was annoyed about his hat. It was genuine leather, and she’d gone and dumped water all over it. Grumbling, hands in his pockets, McCree wandered up the road toward the Motel 6 he’d been living in for the past three weeks. The signboard out front advertised WiFi and color TV. He wasn’t the biggest fan of either, but maybe it was time to make an exception. 

*


	2. Intercepted

Los Angeles wasn’t just a city for degenerate gamblers anymore. Sure, the White Lotus Towers had a casino on the ground floor, but plenty of people lived in the complex who had never bet an honest cent in their lives. For several months now, in fact, the penthouse apartment had been under lease to a wealthy gentleman and his beautiful French wife, and you only had to take one look at them to tell that neither would be caught dead in a casino. 

Nobody in the Towers knew much about them besides that, though. The concierge at the front desk was a chatty fellow, and he knew all the tenants there, but he usually took one look at Mrs. Abattre and let her slip silently by. She never took the elevator. Truth be told, he was a little afraid of her, but he would have put up with just about anything for another look at those mile-long legs of hers. Mr. Abattre was a different story. He worked late and came in just before dawn. The concierge had never even seen him. All he knew about Mr. Abattre was that he was a man of few words, and that he apparently preferred to work with the lights off. 

The concierge knew nothing at all about the penthouse’s third tenant. 

She was there now, in the penthouse with Mr. and Mrs. Abattre, sipping cheap lemonade from a champagne glass as her colleagues pored over the information she had delivered to them on a tiny flash drive. Its contents were displayed on a large monitor set in the wall before the penthouse’s plush leather couch. Mrs. Abattre was reclining. The aforesaid Mr. Abattre was not so much sitting on the couch as hovering a couple of inches over it, but he had put out the footrest anyway, for old times’ sake. 

“ **Did you convince him**?” Reyes’s voice was not the dark baritone it had been when he was properly alive. Now it was deep, and echoed on its own as if it were issuing from somewhere other than his mouth. Privately, Sombra thought it sounded like one of those novelty voice modifiers they handed out at children’s birthday parties. 

She set her lemonade on the end table and swiped her thumb across the matchbox-sized universal monitor strapped to her wrist. “See for yourself,” she said. 

Photocopy images of McCree’s handwritten letter appeared on the big screen. Reyes and Mrs. Abattre, otherwise known as Amélie Lacroix, leaned forward to read, stared at the screen a long time, and then gave up.

“I can’t read this,” said Lacroix. 

“ **It’s chickenscratch** ,” said Reyes.

Sombra let out a short laugh. “I know. It took me three hours to decipher. I was hoping he would send an email, but I guess that just isn’t his style. _Lo que sea._ ” She touched her wrist monitor again and pulled up another file. “Here’s the transcription. _I think Reyes and Morrison are alive_ …” 

Lacroix raised an eyebrow. “Why does he think that?”

“Hope,” said Sombra. “If Reyes survived the explosion in Switzerland, why not Jack Morrison too? People believe what they want to believe.” 

“ **Who is the letter addressed to**?” 

“That gorilla named Winston.” Sombra scrolled down a few lines. “I sent McCree the recall video on a private channel. Dressed it up to make it look like it was broadcast around the world. I sent him some real news, too, don’t worry. Mostly things to do with the rising tensions in London and Russia. That omnic assassination you did, Widowmaker.” 

“My finest work,” sighed Lacroix. “That letter won’t be much news to the monkey, though. You already had an encounter with him, didn’t you, Reyes?” 

“ **He doesn’t know it was me** ,” said Reyes. 

“And he never will,” said Sombra, waving a dusty envelope. “So, Reaper, you have McCree just where you want him. I’m expecting a call from him in a couple days, when he doesn’t hear from Winston. Now will you tell us why we’re doing this runaround? Isn’t he just another name on your hit list?” 

“ **No** ,” said Reyes. 

Sombra waited, but Reyes offered nothing more. “No, to which thing?” she asked finally. She already knew the answer. 

“ **Both** ,” said Reyes. 

“Sentimental fool,” scoffed Lacroix. “Should I get you a tissue, Gabriel? Do you want to give the cowboy a hug before you kill him? _Imbécile_.”

Reyes spoke like every word had to be dragged from his throat against its will. “ **He could be an asset to us. But he’ll need convincing**.”

“Is all this really worth it? He didn’t seem so special to me.” The pout in Sombra’s voice was unmistakable. 

“ **Trust me. He’s more valuable alive**.” 

“Oh, sure,” said Sombra. “And what if all this ‘convincing’ doesn’t work?”

Gabriel Reyes had no expression on his face as he gazed up at the monitor and the letter Sombra had intercepted. 

“ **Then I’ll kill him** ,” he replied.

*


	3. The Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mei-Ling Zhou makes a friend.

The Rialto was one of those extra fancy movie theaters where the seats reclined and you could order much more than just popcorn. Mei-Ling Zhou bounced on her toes in the ticket line and hoped the inside had good air conditioning. After so much time up north, she’d forgotten how warm it could be in the south, even in Autumn. She just had no head for heat. It was only about 22 degrees Celsius, but she was roasting in her sweater.  
She couldn’t just take the sweater off, either. It was her favorite. Opara had given it to her during the winter holidays in Antarctica. It had candy canes on it. 

She had only just flown into Los Angeles yesterday, but she was already itching to get back out in the field. Not that she wasn’t happy to be here. It was like her grandmother had told her, over and over, before she went off to university: “Hard work is good, but taking breaks is even better.” Well, Mei’s break was going to involve an ice cream sundae and a matinee showing of _Six-Gun Killer_. She’d been dying to see it ever since she’d seen the trailer on her flight from Sweden to Newfoundland - she was a sucker for old-fashioned westerns.

Mei-Ling couldn’t help but gawk when she entered the theater. The ceiling was high enough for a chandelier, and the lobby had three. They were enormous and crystal and sparkled in the twinkling lights over the refreshment bar. There were backlit posters on the walls advertising movies that hadn’t come out yet. It seemed like they were all about themes here - there were little cardboard cutouts of aliens dangling from the poster for _It Came from Beyond the Moon_ , and string lights shaped like skulls decorated a display advertising _The Bone Season_. 

There was even a man in a cowboy costume sitting under the poster for _Six-Gun Killer_ , reading a newspaper. At least, that was what Mei thought at first glance. But then the man stood up and walked into the bathroom, and Mei realized he was a customer, like her. She was in the American Southwest, after all. Maybe people just dressed like that out here. 

When the theater started seating for the matinee, Mei-Ling found herself right behind the man in the queue. He was seeing the same movie she was. She couldn’t resist - she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but I love your outfit. You look like a real cowboy!” 

The man chuckled. “What’s to say I ain’t a real cowboy?”

“Are you?” 

He seemed to consider that question with some enjoyment. “Maybe I am,” he answered. 

“And you’re seeing a cowboy movie. I think that’s funny!” Mei held out her hand. “I’m Mei-Ling, but you can call me Mei. Do you like westerns, too?” 

“Now what kind of cowboy would I be if I didn’t like westerns?” He turned to face her and gave her an astonishingly firm handshake. “Jesse McCree, but McCree by itself is fine.”

The name rang a tiny, porcelain bell in the back of Mei-Ling’s mind, but the moment of recognition passed before she could place it. “Just McCree? Don’t you like your first name?”

“I suppose it’s all right, as names go,” said McCree. “It just don’t suit me much.”

The usher took McCree’s ticket and let him pass into the hallway. Mei raised a hand in farewell and gave the usher her own ticket. 

When she turned into the hallway, he was waiting for her. She grinned and waved again. Maybe she was making a new friend. It wasn’t often that strangers kept talking to her after she gave them a passing compliment in public. Impulsively, she pointed to a movie poster for _Hero of My Storm_. “Have you seen that one?” 

“No,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I ain’t much for the movies. I think it’s been years since the last time I set foot in one of these.” 

“Oh, me too! Actually, this is the first time I’ve been in a big city in months,” said Mei. “I spend so much time in the wilderness, it was a shock to see traffic and cars again.” 

“Whatcha doin’ out in the wilderness?”

“I’m a climatologist! I’ve been studying weather phenomena in very cold climates. There are so many changing patterns in the weather, and they’re only getting more unpredictable. So I spend a lot of time gathering data in places like Canada, Greenland, Antarctica -” 

She broke off. In a single, heart-stopping moment, the realization crushed her. 

It hadn’t been months since her last trip to a big city. It had been more than nine years. Just for a minute, she had forgotten. 

If McCree noticed her abrupt silence, he didn’t show it. “Well, that explains the sweater. I was fixin’ to ask if we’d skipped straight to Christmas somehow. Shoot,” he added, as they entered the theater and were greeted with a blast of cold air, “on the other hand, seems like you came prepared.” Unlike Mei, he was dressed for the weather outside, in a plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up and cuffed blue jeans. “They sure do keep it brisk in here, don’t they?”

Mei laughed. “Merry Christmas!” 

That got a chuckle out of McCree. “Looks like I’ve been had.”

She paused in the aisle. “Do you want to sit together?”

“Why not,” said McCree. “I’ve been away from civilization long enough. I could use the company.” They settled in the comfortable middle of the theatre. Mei kicked her legs back and forth, because they didn’t quite touch the floor, and to her scandalized astonishment, McCree reclined and crossed his ankles on the seat in front of him. 

“What if someone wants to sit there?”

“Then I’ll move,” said McCree. “But I’ll tell you what. No one will.” 

“How do you know that?”

He grinned. “Cause these boots ain’t been washed in seven years.” 

Mei clapped her hand over her mouth to cover her laughter. He was so rude! But he was rude in a way that was charming and didn’t seem to be rude at all. “Do you live here in the city? Or are you on vacation, too?” 

“Not exactly. I’m here to meet a colleague. We’ll see how that goes.” A darker edge crept into his voice, but it was at about that moment a theater usher came around to take their orders, so Mei didn’t take note of it. She ordered what she’d been looking forward to since she got off the plane - a hot fudge sundae. Then she glanced at the menu again, struggled with a brief flare of self-control, and ordered a plate of cheesy french fries to go along with it. The pickings had been slim since Antarctica, and Mei loved American food. 

McCree ordered only a black coffee and nothing else, so Mei felt a _little_ bit piggish, but it didn’t bother her for long. She’d spent nine years in cryostasis and hadn’t eaten a _thing_. As far as she was concerned, that meant she was free to eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, for the rest of her life. 

“How long we got before the movie starts?” asked McCree.

“About ten minutes, I think,” said Mei-Ling. “I’m so excited! Sometimes we had movie nights at the outpost in Antarctica, but they were all old movies.” 

“You ever watch _The Thing_?” 

“No,” said Mei. “What is it about?”

“...Y’know what, never mind,” said McCree. “So, what’s it like in Antarctica? I can’t imagine there’s much in the way of - well, anything out there.” 

“That’s not true at all,” said Mei. “There’s so much to see. Maybe you can’t stay outside for very long, because it’s so cold, but Antarctica has the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen. The snow and ice turn orange. It’s like the whole world is made of peach ice cream.” She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the last time she’d watched the sun go down in Antarctica. “And the best part is that you’re one of the only people who gets to see it. The sky is putting on a big show, just for you.” 

“I suppose that after that, a regular old movie don’t hold much water.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. I still love westerns.” Mei drew her hands into the sleeves of her sweater and looked up at the movie screen. It was cycling through advertisements for things like soft drinks, cell phones, and locally-owned farmers’ markets. Soft jazz was playing over the speakers. Mei felt a pang of sadness. Maybe she and her team could have gone to see _Six-Gun Killer_ together. It didn’t quite feel right, being here without them.

Nine years.

“I’m lucky to be here,” she heard herself saying. “When Overwatch was shut down, my research was cancelled.” McCree looked at her sharply, but Mei kept her eyes trained on the screen. “But I had lots of valuable data. I couldn’t just give up. So I kept working. And now I get to travel all over the world, doing research that could save lives. It feels good to be making a difference.” 

McCree didn’t say anything for long minute. His coffee arrived. The previews started.

Mei’s cheesy fries arrived before her sundae. She looked down at the plate and realized her appetite had deserted her.

“That’s good to hear,” said McCree. The pause had been so long, it took Mei a split second to realize he was still continuing their conversation. “You keep on doin’ that, and don’t give up.”

“Don’t worry,” said Mei, “I don’t plan to.” She felt a swell of pride and dug into her fries. It was about then that the movie started, and their conversation had to cease. Like McCree had predicted, no one tried to sit in front of them, and he kept his feet propped on the seat the entire movie. _Six-Gun Killer_ was just what Mei-Ling had hoped it would be: a thrilling, old-fashioned shoot-’em-up about a six-armed omnic outlaw and the small-town sheriff bent on bringing him to justice. For some reason, Mei found herself rooting for the outlaw. She thought the movie was terribly exciting.

McCree seemed to think it was hilarious. He laughed at almost every scene, even the ones that were supposed to be sad. Mei-Ling started to worry he didn’t like the movie, but when she looked over, she couldn’t read anything but enjoyment on his face.

The movie was almost over when McCree rose out of his seat and leaned over to whisper to her. “Thanks for the company, Miss Mei. I have to be on my way, now.” 

“You’re leaving? But the movie isn’t over yet!” It came out a little louder than she intended. Her heart dropped. She liked this cowboy, but all she knew about him was his name. If he left now, she wouldn’t ever see him again.  
“That’s all right, I know how it ends. I got a rendezvous to keep.” McCree edged past her into the aisle. She let him pass, reluctantly. 

“Well, goodbye,” she whispered. He tipped his hat to her and was gone. Mei drew her legs up onto the seat and tried not to feel lonely. 

As the credits started rolling, the usher came around to hand out checks for the food. To Mei’s surprise, she was skipped over entirely. 

“Excuse me,” she called, “I have to pay for my meal.” 

The usher was a slim, black-haired woman about Mei’s own age. She approached, wide-eyed, wearing an expression of polite confusion. “I’m sorry?” 

“I have to pay for my meal,” said Mei. 

The usher took a leatherbound notebook from her front pocket and flipped through it. “Looks like you’re all paid for.” 

“What?” 

“Mhm … let’s see … yep, all good! Lobby checkout. Here’s your receipt.” She pulled a thin slip of thermal paper from the notebook, glanced at it, and handed it to Mei-Ling with a small smile. “Have a nice day.” 

Mei held the receipt in both hands and sank slowly back into her seat. She felt hot all over, and she couldn’t keep the smile from her face as she folded the little paper and tucked it deep into her pocket. He’d left her a number. Maybe she had made a new friend after all. 

*


End file.
